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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474188">Stellaris: A collection of shorts for EmetWoL Week 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat'>Dadbeat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, EmetWoL Week (Final Fantasy XIV), M/M, ascian AU, but that's the ot3 so it probably will, consensual roughness, eldritch horror, i don't actually know if elidibus will show up, mild bloodplay, sad boys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of shorts of varying lengths for emetwol week. may or may not be for every prompt. </p><p>written with my wol, Altruoix Douleuraine in mind but can work as general mWoL/emet too I hope.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch &amp; Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1. Light || Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>we interrupt the ongoing sos ex farm for this important self indulgent shipping trash<br/>i'm not sorry</p><p>thanks to the convocation as always</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prompt 1: Light || Dark</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“How does that even work?” The Warrior of Light asks, staring meaningfully at where the morning sun hits them both. He casts a shadow. Emet-Selch does not.</p><p>“Does it matter?” Emet-Selch rolls over in the shared bed, stretching like a cat as he does so. There’s an audible popping in his spine as he nestles back into the indentation he’s made in the mattress as they’ve slept.</p><p>“I mean, I know that’s why we call you ascians.” His bed partner is unwilling to let it go. “But a shadow occurs when you intercept light with a solid object. And you are <em> decidedly </em> solid.”</p><p>“Ascribing a scientific reasoning to what is a purely spiritual phenomenon is foolhardy,” Emet-Selch groans, “but not unsurprising, given how little your kind know of--”</p><p>He stops himself. Clicks his tongue.</p><p>Cheeky. Inquiring upon their nature while pliant in bed. The fact he <em> almost </em> got away with it is, of course, its own brand of concerning. But he will ponder that when he is fully awake and much less vulnerable to any further silly lines of questioning.</p><p>“--In any case, it is much too early for this. Kindly take your inquiry elsewhere.”</p><p>The Warrior merely hums at this, watching with fascination as he traces the planes of Emet-Selch’s bare chest, that dark reflection of his body cast upon flesh that’s full bright otherwise. Not even the dips and curves of his musculature cast shade upon itself. Just another thing for the creature that, despite its brokenness, occupies his mind as much as he does theirs to ponder on.</p><p>“Hmm. Let me try something.” With little warning a body clambers over his, limbs knocking against Emet-Selch as he makes an irritated hiss. In a flash the warrior has moved to the other side of him, pulling him against his chest with a laugh. </p><p>“Ah, that’s better.” There’s a sly, triumphant grin on his face. With a small jerk of his head, he indicates what he’s done to Emet-Selch, who looks, rolls his eyes, and groans at how stupidly <em> clever </em> it all is.</p><p>“You see? With me at your back, I may provide shadow for the both of us.” </p><p>Emet-Selch wishes he could tell him how right he truly is.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 3. I knew you once upon a time || Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>managed to fit both prompts in by accident. this is fine.</p><p>there is some consensual violence/mild bloodplay in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prompt 3: I knew you once upon a time || Kiss</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Azem returns to Amaurot, but not to Emet-Selch. He's maddeningly scarce all day, sequestering himself first within meetings at the Auditor's Bureau and then with Elidibus and Halmarut. </p><p>Emet-Selch tries not to take it personally. It's not like he isn't busy, either - his own sphere filled with things of grave import.</p><p>Tries, of course, is the operative word. He fails at it utterly, and though he gets through his duties by the time the sun sets his mood is absolutely <em> foul </em>.</p><p>Hythlodaeus attempts to drag him away for dinner. He instead chooses to stomp around the Capitol for a few hours, then falls asleep in a huff at his desk once he's exhausted himself.</p><p> </p><p><em>Click. </em>An engraved handle turns. Though deep within rest, he takes subconscious note.</p><p>"...Hades?"</p><p>The office door groans quietly. Under the rustling of robes traveling boots click across tile.</p><p>"Hades."</p><p>One corner of Emet-Selch's lip twitches. </p><p>"<b> <em>Sleepy shite.</em> </b>" </p><p>His hand shoots out, snagging the intruder's wrist as they yelp. With a yank they're pulled into his lap, blue eyes meeting Emet-Selch's heavy lidded gold.</p><p>Azem is smiling, placatingly. Emet-Selch grins back - all teeth</p><p>"How unlike you, to be at your office at this time of night." If Azem is afraid of Emet-Selch's temper, he doesn't show it. "I thought for sure you'd be home."</p><p>"I <em> would </em> be," Emet-Selch hisses back, "If <b> <em>someone</em> </b> hadn't seen fit to ignore me all day."</p><p>"Miss me, then?" Azem's free hand snakes up to his back. "Oh my. Had I known, I- "</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>He pushes Azem down onto his desk, leaving it bereft of work and the man bereft of air, gasping as the breath is knocked from him.</p><p>It turns into a different gasp as Emet-Selch bites down on the exposed shoulder beneath Azem's cowl, teeth scraping over and up. </p><p>Calloused hands snag themselves into Emet-Selch's hair. Press against his scalp. Encourage him to go harder. So he does - clamping down right into the flesh of Azem's neck until the red of dawn seeps into his mouth and stains his lips.</p><p>They stay there for a while, Emet-Selch gorging himself stupid on Azem's blood and aether until he's jerked up into a kiss.</p><p>"Fffffuck," Azem manages, when he finally breaks away. His braid's come undone, mercury hair a wild halo around his head. "If I knew you'd get this upset over <em> meetings, </em> I'd have done this long ago."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Emet-Selch snaps back to reality. He's leaning against the window frame in the Pendants. Below him, the Warrior of Light sits, squinting over his glasses at half-done formulae.</p><p>Hmph. He must have drifted off due to terminal <em> boredom </em> at watching the man puzzle through arcanistry so basic a <em> child </em> could do it.</p><p>He tilts forward, so that his torso blocks the moonlight.</p><p>"Still working on the same equation? Tch. I expected better - at least, from you. Vaunted hero, and all that."</p><p>"You're free to help," blue eyes flicker up in agitation before returning to work, his free hand turning up the desk lamp, "Though I have the sneaking suspicion you'd rather just <em> complain. </em>"</p><p>"You wound me." Emet-Selch places a hand over his heart. Tries to ignore the way the lamplight hits the bare skin of the Warrior's torso.</p><p>"It's <em> constructive criticism. </em> If I were just complaining, I wouldn't bother telling you that you missed a variable fifty lines back."</p><p> </p><p>The Warrior of Light swears loudly. Tucking a strand of grey behind a long ear, he starts about checking his work. And if the ascian's hands clench about a phantom wrist, gaze far away as he bites his tongue bloody - well, he's too busy to see it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 4. Sleep || Journey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little late but who is keeping track :^)</p><p>I'd like to think every halfway notable runaway noble or person of import all know each other and commiserate, especially with how many mia ishgardian heirs there are lmfao. Altruoix fits this bill nicely. They have a triple triad group that meets thursdays.</p><p>anyway ty for your continuing interest and enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prompt 4: Sleep || Journey</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They cling to each other like children when they sleep, limbs entangling until it's impossible for one to get free without waking the others.</p><p>And wake each other they do.</p><p>Oftentimes it's innocuous. Maybe one of them has to go to the bathroom. Maybe Elidibus kicks Emet-Selch in the shin when he hogs the pillow. Fitting two ancients and a man together in one bed is challenge enough. Keeping them all comfortable all the time is impossible.</p><p>Though Emet-Selch complains mightily each time he is disturbed, the easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath the pout betrays him. He tugs the pillow a little closer. Tucks away each wry barb thrown by a half-awake Elidibus, each profanity-laden epithet lovingly left by the Warrior.</p><p>He keeps them for the bad nights, when rest is scarce and nightmares plentiful. For when the Warrior sits hypervigilant, burning through tobacco and aching from wounds too deep to ever heal. Wounds he both can and cannot recall.</p><p>For when he closes his eyes and can see only fire and ruin, the Underworld swollen like a fat maggot as everything falls - the living and the dead howling in tandem and no matter how hard he presses his hands to his ears he cannot block them out.</p><p>For when Elidibus whimpers like a wounded animal, tears streaking down his face as he gasps for air between them both, panic twisting his brow as he struggles to remember where he is in that liminal space between wakefulness and oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>Tonight's one of them. The rain's set the Warrior off.</p><p>"Sorry," he murmurs, as he leans against the headboard and rolls a cigarette. He's always apologizing. Emet-Selch hates it. Hates it because it reminds him of how weak and mortal and <em> fallible </em> the Warrior is and how much like Azem he is not.</p><p>Elidibus's head is in the man's lap. Pianist fingers tap a soundless rhythm against the bedspread, only stopping to smooth against his impromptu pillow's leg each time peals of thunder leave him trembling. The Emissary's expression is one of careful neutrality - the Warrior does not want mothered and he respects that wish - but so too does he provide succor as only he is able, skirting the line just enough that the comforting touch is accepted.</p><p>Emet-Selch has naught to give but his brooding presence tonight but he shares it nonetheless. He practically squishes Elidibus with his bulk, flopping over the both of them as he reaches for a book on the bedside table.</p><p>"That's my ledger," the Warrior protests, letting his just-lit cigarette dangle as he tries to free the book from the ascian's clutches.</p><p>"Let me see, hero." Emet-Selch pouts, opening it up to a random page and feigning interest at the minutiae within. "What are you afraid of me finding?"</p><p>"More afraid of what you'll subject it to, more like." Lightning flashes, causing him to wince. Tutting, Emet-Selch presses three fingers together, and snaps the curtains shut.</p><p>"Now." He continues, "As I was saying.” Tracing the impeccable handwriting he finds a choice place to start. Whatever were you trading to Carvallain...? Oh. <em> Ohoho. </em>”</p><p>The Warrior goes pale, but not from the storm. Emet-Selch presses closer. Tucks his head fondly beneath their chin.</p><p>“My, my. Someone’s been <em> very </em> naughty."</p><p> </p><p>He goes onto the next line, then, and the next - ridiculing each in excruciating detail. The flash of his eyes in the lamplight as he finds something particularly amusing becomes far more bright than any lightning. The low rumble of his voice overtakes the thunder. </p><p>Perhaps the Warrior is not Azem, but Emet-Selch does not navigate them to sleep alone tonight. The words in his hands are proof that their star still guides them, even in the darkest moments.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 5. Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There will be no compromise. But that does not mean Emet-Selch will not try, futile as it is.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>unstoppable force meets immovable object f in chat</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prompt 5: Fight</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He expects the blowback from Azem as he gives his answer. Prepared, even. Emet-Selch knows better than any, save perhaps Elidibus, of the man's moods and capabilities when upset.</p><p>But the scale is unprecedented. Azem is a meticulous man tasked with overseeing the most meticulous things in their world, capable of seeing and understanding the weave of reality and how each piece fit within it.<br/>He fain <em>explodes.</em></p><p>Emet-Selch has to remind himself that what they face is worse, <em> so much worse </em> as he picks through what remains of their meeting hall.</p><p>"I cannot believe he was able to <em> flip the table </em>," Lahabrea remarks. His face is still deep red, his own personal and professional anger palpable at Azem's slights but even he is fascinated by the sight of the solid stone tossed upside down. Igeyorhm sighs from her spot on the floor where she's reconstituting her shredded paperwork.</p><p>"Pray, do not sound so enthusiastic about it," she says, tiredly. "We have no time for this foolishness."</p><p>She's right. Everyone in attendance looks as haggard as the half-destroyed room, even with their faces hidden behind their masks. Many have not slept in days - perhaps weeks, in Lahabrea's case. Their tireless work has borne fruit, but it is bittersweet.</p><p>The moment he brought up the plans, Emet-Selch knew there would be no consensus. The way Azem’s eyes went glacier hard, his face straining to stay calm while his hands pressed into the armrests to keep from shaking as he stood.</p><p>Somehow, Azem had seen the concept already, had a reply for it all. <br/>And when Azem made up his mind? When the whole of the <b> <em>Star</em> </b> was at stake? When the cost was necessary, but so terribly high?</p><p>“We are fortunate he <em> only </em> flipped the table,” Emet-Selch replies, “and that only <em> one </em> window was shattered.”</p><p>Picking up the pieces of said window is Elidibus. He looks pointedly away from Azem’s seat, lips a thin, hard line. He’s made up his mind too, it seems. His shoulders square as he stands up.</p><p>“I propose a recess.” Lifting his hands, the shards of glass slot themselves together in the air. “I do believe we could all use a break.” He turns to Emet-Selch, the intent in his face - and brush of soul - clear.</p><p>
  <b> <em>AzemMustNeedsBeCollected.</em> </b>
</p><p>Emet-Selch lifts up his mask to pinch his nose.<br/>“Fine,” he says, defeated. “I shall hunt down our fourteenth - that is, if he still remains in the city. I cannot guarantee it.”<br/>Drawing himself to his full height, his figure sweeps from the room.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Emet-Selch does not bother to look for Azem at home. He knows he won't be there. In a flash, he’s at Akademia, emptied of its inhabitants - sent home to be with their loved ones during these final days.</p><p>It’s passing strange, to be here like this. The venerable man cannot think of a time the campus has been so quiet. Not even during the holidays.</p><p>It’s but a microcosm of the world as it holds its breath for them to act. The last bastion, as the Sound’s horrors close around them.</p><p>They are hale and whole and the last. The only ones who can stop this. He only has to convince Azem of the fact.</p><p>He finds his quarry under a tree, in a small courtyard beside the Words of Altima. Azem's knees are drawn up to his chin, hiding the splotchiness of his face as tears continue to drip down his chin. He looks so much smaller than his stature would exist, like this. Emet-Selch can hardly believe this is their Shepherd. </p><p>"Azem,” he calls, careful to keep his voice even. It would not do to have him flee. Not yet. “I was worried when I did not find you at home.”</p><p>Azem’s head snaps. Though his eyes are obscured Hades can feel them narrowing at him.</p><p>"Don't play this game, <em>Hades</em>. It's bullshite." Emet-Selch twitches at the clear disrespect in the tone as Azem peels the mask from his face, letting it drop. “I know full well you’re here to collect me. Chastise me. Send me back to the others so that I may see the light. See what must be done.” He lets out a long, sad sigh. It only serves to visibly deflate him more.</p><p>“You shan’t get the answer you desire. Not now. Not ever.”</p><p>Emet-Selch frowns. "You are planning on resigning, then."</p><p>A bitter laugh. "The letter's been drafted for days."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Endless plans carefully laid dashed as the other youth swagger into the classroom and casually picks apart each error. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s it, then. It’s exactly as he’s feared, and there’s no changing Azem’s mind when he gets like this. The next words are fruitless, but Emet-Selch cannot help but say them anyway. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Barbs thrown in public only serve to exacerbate the situation and engender further animosity. Yet say them he shall. The other has to be told. This state of affairs cannot continue. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What of your duty?" One final appeal. "Will you stay until the summoning, at least?"</p><p>Azem sucks in air through his teeth as he stares upwards to the sky.</p><p>"Why do you test me, Emet-Selch? You know the answer, but…"</p><p>He lifts a finger, dipping it up and into the air. The world shimmers around it. His other hand joins, manipulating rippling space until Amaurot in miniature appears.</p><p> </p><p><em> "It's so damned </em> <b> <em>simple</em> </b> <em> , Hades. Why do you and the rest fight that which you know to be </em> <b> <em>Correct</em> </b> <em> ? You do not have this insight." </em></p><p> </p><p>"What do you do when you build?" Azem asks. "You make sure it serves its function. You look to see that it fits the land. You place it in a way that does not disrupt the Underworld's flow."</p><p>A flick, and the image changes to a blueprint of creation spinning into the thing itself - a magpie, its plumage shimmering iridescent in the late day sun.</p><p>"So too I do with creations. They must work correctly, lest they backfire on their makers and disrupt the Star's path. All this makes sense. All to preserve what we must while forwarding us all."</p><p>The pointed finger becomes a fist. The magpie turns terrible, wrong. It flutters in alarm as it writhes, though on the surface it appears the same. There’s a terrible screech.</p><p>The display flickers, and dies. Its aether curls lazily around loosening fingers that tremble despite Azem's best efforts.</p><p>"I've left out a step, of course. Before you ever build, you check the foundation."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "This is a disaster. I won't work with it." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Not everyone is as adept as you, Euclid." </em>
</p><p><em> "That's </em> <b> <em>rich</em> </b> <em> coming from you, Hades. As if you're any better. You won't even apply yourself on the basic courses." </em></p><p>
  <em> He's right. But it's the principle of the thing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Emet-Selch shakes the shock from the demonstration away. "And did you not just illustrate your job is to fix--"</p><p><b>"I've </b> <b> <em>tried, </em> </b> <b>Hades!"</b></p><p>Azem's examining his hands, in that peculiar way that indicates he's looking <em> in </em> them rather than at them. His tears begin anew, hot with frustration and grief. "I've looked over those damned blueprints since Lahabrea had the <em> audacity </em> to dream them up! Days of research, of revisions...it's just Broken. It's a broken concept. Something in it just <em> doesn't work </em> and for all of my gifts I cannot perceive why! All the while you ask me again and again why I will not yield, why I am so against a necessary sacrifice, against <b> <em>Elidibus</em> </b> being the--!"</p><p>He cannot continue the thought. In his distress, words leave Azem, and instead he emits a haunting, broken wail as he clutches at himself. It's a noise Emet-Selch has never heard before, and will never hear again. An admission of defeat from the undefeatable.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Of all the fools who could have stumbled into this place, it would be him. </em>
</p><p><em> "Drag me to the Underworld </em> <b> <em>right now</em> </b> <em> ," Hades groans as he eyes the man sitting under his preferred napping tree.<br/></em> <em> As if causing him to be chastised by their instructor wasn't enough, he had to take his preferred rest spot, too. The worst part was he could not even complain - the small green space off the Words of Altima was technically public.<br/></em> <em> With a resigned huff, he crosses his arms and walks purposefully over - ignoring Euclid's squawked protests before slumping against the trunk. </em></p><p><em> "You can't--” Euclid stutters, catching himself and clamping down on his tongue before continuing. “That is, this is </em> <b> <em>my</em> </b> <em> -" </em></p><p><em> "Your </em> <b> <em>what</em> </b> <em> ?" Hades asks mildly, though the smug edge of his voice is unmistakable.<br/>" </em> <em> This is a </em> <b> <em>public</em> </b> <em> space. And after all the trouble you've put me through, I am feeling quite </em> <b> <em>exhausted</em> </b> <em> ." He makes a show of stretching before pulling his cowl over his mask, curling up to rest.<br/></em> <em> Sharing with Euclid might be a bit miserable, but Euclid being just as inconvenienced was victory enough. </em></p><p> </p><p>Emet-Selch cannot help himself. He pulls the other man into his arms. Holds him through the wailing as his face too is stained with tears - the stress of the earlier confrontation and Azem’s words finally bringing him low, leaning into the other for comfort.</p><p> </p><p><em> The sun is particularly bright today. Hades sweats beneath his robes.<br/></em> <em> "You know," Euclid calls from the other side of the tree, "You could always sit over here. I'm not some first year's phantomology project." </em></p><p><em> He stands, rolls his eyes, snorts. "Have it your way,” he replies, and plops himself next to Euclid with a shrug. <br/></em> <em> The man has a book open, and is busy writing notes in its margins. Hades cannot help but observe, taking in his rival-turned-treemate's work. When he asks about the auxiliary glyphwork around a certain batch of scrawlings, Euclid's eyes light up. He's more than eager to explain. </em></p><p> </p><p>No words need exchanged. Their souls press tight seeping through space, steel blue smearing gold-violet.<br/><b> <em>IWillNotLetItTakeYou. NeverLetYouGo.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Every day they talk, each time filled with new understanding. They sit closer and closer until side by side. The best and brightest of Amaurot, brought together with enkindled flame. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Azem's cries quiet. Emet-Selch's fingers trace through salt and damp along the edge of the mask, carefully placed back on his face. The best and brightest of Amaurot, their dying gasp of hope exhaled.</p><p>"Stay." Soft begging from a man stripped of ruined pride. "Hades."<br/>"Until the sun burns out." Murmured gently, over the sound of a radio left unattended through an open window.<br/>"That may be sooner than you think." Azem's lips find Emet-Selch's jaw, tasting the bitterness collected there.<br/>"But how can it be dark when I am with you, Euclid?" A rueful smile. "You are <em> grossly </em> incandescent."</p><p>Soon, the peace will break. Azem will surely leave, stubbornly searching for an answer that does not exist until the very end.</p><p>The Convocation will be forced to act, and Emet-Selch and the rest will deal with those consequences.</p><p>For now, though? </p><p>Two foolish <strike> <em> young </em> </strike> men <strike> <em> fight </em> </strike> dream for themselves <strike> <em> what may come </em> </strike> what they've shared as they drift off under the boughs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 6. Masks || Embrace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The risk that Nicobulus fae Didicus - senator turned imperial advisor of minor import - took was calculated. But boy, was he bad at math.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[slams hands on table] ASCIAN AU WHERE EMET AND AZEM RULE GARLEMALD AS A RUTHLESS POWER COUPLE</p><p>[insert meme here about AU content I talk about vs AU content I actually have with one being a very small book and the other being a goddamn encyclopedia]</p><p>warnings for blood, violence, and eldritch horror shit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prompt 6: Masks || Embrace</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It happens quicker than Solus zos Galvus can blink. For Nicobulus fae Didicus, it feels like an eternity. His Radiance's gaze shifts for just a moment, to thumb through the report placed on his desk. Nicobulus sees the pulse thrumming beneath the pale skin exposed by his half-buttoned dress shirt.</p><p>That moment of brief distraction is just enough. There’s not  time for the emperor to react to the whisper of unsheathed steel, nor the flash of silver out of the corner of his eye as his advisor strikes. The dagger finds its mark, tearing through the flesh beneath his collarbone to neatly slot itself between his ribs.</p><p>Gold eyes go wide in surprise as crimson blooms from the hit, a terrible flower that spills down his front and onto his desk.</p><p>"You!--" Solus bites out with a rasp, face contorting in agony. One hand braces himself while the other clutches the wound.</p><p>Nicobulus hadn't been able to get a clean look at his heart, but it does not matter. A punctured lung would do in the emperor long before any royal medicus would arrive.</p><p>Nearly a year of work, come to fruition - and years longer to even be in the position to plot. How insanely lucky, to catch him both alone, and unawares. How <em> arrogant </em>, for Solus to leave himself thus. </p><p>The best part? He might actually be able to <em> see </em>his country free once more. Riding the adrenaline rush with the world still sluggish around him, Nicobulus moves to escape. Grinning wickedly he turns, heading to the row of windows that mark his best method of egress.</p><p>Drawing his cloak about himself, he prepares to barrel through them - but halfway to his destination he’s jerked to a halt, as if reaching the end of a tether. His surroundings snap back to normal speed, but his body does not, leaving him disoriented and gawking at his predicament. <br/>
<em> What in the hells is--? </em></p><p>Then the tether shortens, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him sprawling to the ground. He impacts hard enough to be dazed, so does not immediately struggle.</p><p>As he reorients himself he hears from behind the padding of bare feet and the rustle of petticoats. </p><p><b><em>&lt;&lt;Who would </em></b><b><em>DARE </em></b><b><em>to target their betters?</em></b><b>&gt;&gt;</b> The language is strange, incomprehensible. Bereft of its meaning it’s merely noise that scrapes at the insides of Nicobulus’s head, as if trying to claw its way in. <b>&lt;&lt;</b><b><em>What manner of fool has had the audacity to--&gt;&gt;<br/>
</em></b>There’s a pause, the air around him growing hot enough to scald then snapping back to normal.<br/>
&lt;&lt;Aahh.&gt;&gt; A high, cruel chuckle. &lt;&lt;I suppose I am getting ahead of myself.&gt;&gt;</p><p>The hem of a dress enters his vision, before he's lifted limply to his feet - suspended like a puppet on strings - and turned to meet its owner at eye level.</p><p>What he sees leaves him bereft of breath and nearly bereft of sense, as every ilm of body and mind <em> shrieks </em> in fear.</p><p>The Empress yae Galvus, heavy with child, stands before him - but this is not the demure thing that stands at Solus zos Galvus's side during public address. Nor is it the calculating noble that he knows she can be - her true nature fitting for a woman that has captured the attention of their tyrant.</p><p>When Nicobulus was young, there'd been a creature that attacked their village's livestock. When the night was darkest it would strike, dragging things screaming off into the abyss. <br/>
He'd seen it move, with the self-assuredness that nothing could stop it. Nothing could touch it.<br/>
Their workhorse had screamed, and screamed. Its hooves had beat bloody the attacker, leaving streaks of ichor smeared across the meadow.<br/>
In the end, it'd been taken all the same.</p><p>He swears she must be that thing. Wreathed in squirming shadows, she moves with that same ambling walk, power glowing hot within her furious gaze.</p><p>He faces a monster. And he has <em> angered </em>it.</p><p>"The <b> <em>audacity</em> </b> ," she snarls, lips drawing back against razors. "To think such <em> vermin </em> would even <b> <em>think </em> </b>about--"</p><p>"You've done <em> quite </em> enough, dearest." A familiar voice, a <em> dead </em> voice calls from behind the desk.To Nicobulus’s horror he finds Solus - dagger protruding from his chest - now lounging. The shock and pain from before is absent. He only looks mildly inconvenienced with it all.</p><p>"Just look at the poor man. I daresay you might have made him piss himself. And besides," he shakes his head, shrugging, “We are beset on all sides by enemies. Is it <em> really </em>that unthinkable one might try to act from within?”</p><p>Nicobulus has never believed in gods, but here, trapped in the claws of not one, but <em> two </em> monstrosities? He prays to anyone and anything that may listen.</p><p>The Thing-in-satin-and-lace is smiling, now - seemingly amused at the Thing-that-is-Solus's griping. </p><p>"He'll do much more than piss once I've finished with him, I think." She leans slightly forward, one immaculately manicured nail pressed to her cheek with a hum. "It never changes, does it?” &lt;&lt;They struggle so mightily against the inevitable.&gt;&gt;</p><p>&lt;&lt;Your energies would be much better put towards rest, Azem.&gt;&gt; The emperor looks pointedly at her swollen abdomen. Then, softer, "Please, do not endanger them over an insect’s slighting of my personage."</p><p>The empress's smile fades, replaced with a terrible seriousness. &lt;&lt;I would never, Emet-Selch.&gt;&gt; She cradles the bump with a gentleness uncharacteristic of such a creature.<br/>
&lt;&lt;Even now, I shepherd all - but <em> especially </em>them.&gt;&gt; Creator. Destroyer.</p><p>"Hah! You shepherd this saboteur unto his death, perhaps." Solus snorts, crossing his arms and slumping forward. The act only serves to smear his life's essence even more across his arms and torso. His shirt is comically ruined.</p><p>"Oh,” he catches his wife’s gaze, “<em> Don't </em> look at me that way. Picking him apart <em> won't </em>get you any closer to the answers you seek."</p><p>Was...was the empress <em> pouting </em>, now? Her lower lip juts out petulantly as she lets out a whine. </p><p>"I know no better way, &lt;&lt;Hades!&gt;&gt; For them to survive, <em> thrive </em> in this shattered reality, and on the reflections besides! It should not be possible. Look." There's a build up of pressure - the kind that heralds a spell - so powerful that Nicobulus is afraid the energy from it alone will crush him.</p><p>A moment later and he wishes that it had, mouth stretched in a silent scream as something inside him <em> liquifies </em>.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>"<em> None </em> of this was necessary." Emet-Selch's lips twist in distaste at the mangled lump writhing on the ground. "There are only a finite amount of configurations you can enact with their limbs, you know. How many years has it been?"</p><p>"I've not run out yet," Azem answers. He's standing, serene, with his hands folded atop his belly. His unsundered partner rolls his eyes.</p><p>"Yes, yes. You certainly have not, otherwise I'd not have to keep cleaning up your messes."</p><p>Azem doesn't respond to the jab, instead squatting down to take a closer look at what remains of the would-be assassin. White blond locks still mussed from sleep fall forward as he takes careful stock of his work.</p><p>"Not only do I have to clean up this time,” Emet-Selch continues, “but I must find his co-conspirators without any leads - and rest assured, he <em> did </em>have help." </p><p>"I am many things, Emet-Selch, but I am not a fool." Azem flicks his wrist. The mass shudders to stillness. With some effort, he brings himself back up to stand.</p><p>"My agents have been tracking such a plot for some time now." Inside the nightstand is a small, leatherbound book. Running his fingers along its spine has glyphs on the surface flaring to life. It drops itself on Solus's desk as he climbs back into bed. "Just give it back when you're done, please. Not like last time - retrieving it from the frontlines was a terrible hassle."</p><p>"If only you had shared this with me before he ruined my shirt."</p><p>"It was never a threat - as you can see." It's said matter-of-factly as Azem draws up the sheets. "You can get another."</p><p>Emet-Selch eyes his tattered chest mournfully. "I am old and sentimental - and perhaps have been playing at mortal for far too long. I particularly liked this one." </p><p>"Hahaha! At last, you admit your age." The corners of Azem's eyes crinkle, grin lighting up the room. "Ask nicely, and I may reconstitute it for you."</p><p>"I will insist the medicus lets me still sleep with you as I coalesce."</p><p>"You drive a hard bargain,&lt;&lt;Dusk to my Dawn&gt;&gt;." Azem's lashes droop low as he beckons over Emet-Selch, who obliges with a low chuckle. "I would not <em> dream </em> of letting you sit locked up on some idiot's healing cot without me."</p><p>"Of course." Their fingers interlace, blood smearing across Azem and the bed. Emet-Selch is tugged to his knees, his lips pressing to Azem's and parting as the man’s tongue seeks eager entrance.</p><p>The kiss is long, tender. Between two monsters in borrowed flesh playing house with mortal lives.</p><p>&lt;&lt;Zodiark help me,&gt;&gt; Emet-Selch groans when he finally comes up for air. Azem has lapped up the crimson in his mouth, and eagerly starts working clean the lines that drip down his neck. &lt;&lt;You are an absolute <b> <em>menace</em> </b>, Euclid.&gt;&gt;</p><p>The monster beneath him trills, completely and utterly pleased with himself. A shimmering blue-opal tendril curls lovingly about Emet-Selch’s neck, ruffling the short shorn hair there. &lt;&lt;Yet you won't send me back to Lahabrea.&gt;&gt; </p><p>&lt;&lt;Tch. Indeed.&gt;&gt; Emet-Selch's eyes slide shut, his body sagging into the touch. </p><p>Were that they could stay here, like this. Just for a little while. Free from the obligations that bind them just as surely as they bind each other. But now's not the time.</p><p>Still, he dallies. For a few minutes there's naught but Azem, humming as the tendril winds itself up his beloved's head and through his silken locks, and Emet-Selch, his head against Azem's chest, drinking in wisps of rosemary, ink, and the sliver of dark glittering like wine within that fractured soul.</p><p>When he pulls away, his gilded gaze is full of regrets.</p><p>"Shall we?" He returns to his chair. Azem watches, an open look of longing as with a final flick he spirits away the mess on the bed. Emet-Selch does the same - a crisp snap rings out, and the body is gone, his desk pristine.</p><p>One last shared moment, free of masks, as they take their final spots on the stage. </p><p>Then, they're replaced.</p><p>Solus zos Galvus gurgles, clutching at his chest. Scrambling from the bed despite her condition, the empress shrieks for the guards and for a healer, the glass of the window shattering as the assailant flees. She has to be dragged from the room, hysterical, as the stricken emperor is tended to.</p><p>He's so fortunate, the medicus says, examining the charts - after the bleeding has been stemmed and his punctured lung knitted together as best they're able. Without his wife to sound the alarum, he would have surely perished.</p><p>His back turned, the empress coos - red flickering atop her face as she gathers her world in her arms.</p><p>His Radiance merely nods. "So <em> very </em> fortunate."</p>
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